“Answers daenae always stay where ye left them, me laird,” David said, sighing as he stepped aside to let a pair of maids hurry past. “Sometimes they’re lost to time, buried deeper than any of us can reach, but each scoutin’ mission lets us ken that the answers daenae lie where we searched.”
Connor stopped so abruptly that the stable boy behind him nearly ran into him. His black eyes burned like coals as he turned toward his friend, voice dropping to a low growl.
“I refuse to believe that.”
David lifted both brows. He took Connor’s satchel bag from the saddle, tossing it toward him without warning. Connor caught it easily, though his expression did not soften.
“Well, I suppose stubbornness is a McLaren trait,” David muttered with a half-smile. “Some folk call it determination, but I call it ye bein’ impossible.”
“Watch yer tongue, lad. I only allow it to be looser than others because ye are me trusted man-at-arms, but that doesnae mean I willnae punish it,” Connor groaned.
He threw his satchel over his shoulder and strode toward the castle doors. His long strides forced David to walk faster, though the younger man made no complaint. The stable boys duckedtheir heads in respect as the pair passed, and the towering wooden doors groaned open before them.
“I’ll search that cursed glen every month till the truth shows itself,” Connor said, his voice steady but edged with steel. “If Michael’s ghost whispered the name of his killer, I’d hear it before I abandoned hope.”
David shook his head as he followed him inside. His footsteps echoed through the stone entry hall, the air warm from the torches lining the walls.
“Ghosts daenae whisper to the livin’, Connor. They barely leave behind enough for memory.”
Connor halted again, staring at a tapestry depicting a battle won long before his birth. Connor inhaled once, sharply, then moved on.
“If ye feel the need to lecture me, David, at least wait till I’ve had a meal,” he snapped, though his tone lacked true sting. “A man thinks clearer when his belly isnae empty.”
David grinned. “Aye, and ye’re easier to deal with when ye’ve meat in yer hands instead of that temper.”
Connor shot him a warning look, yet it faded almost as quickly as it came. They reached the interior corridors, where a pair of guards saluted and opened the next set of doors.
“Still,” David continued, lowering his voice, “ye ken I’ll follow ye anywhere. Even back to that cursed place again, if ye ask it.”
Connor glanced sideways at him, the edge of gratitude softening the severity of his expression. The loyalty between them had been forged in blood and loss, unshakable, undeniable.
“I ken that,” he said quietly. “And I’ll ask again soon enough.”
David groaned dramatically. “Of course, ye will. I should’ve taken up the life of a carefree wanderer. Instead, I’m followin’ the most haunted man in Scotland.”
Connor ignored the remark, though David’s exaggerated misery almost cracked a reluctant smile from him. They crossed beneath the arch leading to the main wing of the castle, the sound of murmuring servants fading as they moved deeper inside.
“Next time,” David added, elbowing him lightly, “ye might consider takin’ a wee rest between broodin’ sessions. Give yerself a chance to breathe.”
“I breathe well enough,” Connor muttered. “It’s answers I lack.”
“Of course, ye do,” David replied.
Connor strode toward the wide staircase leading to his private chambers, his strides powerful, confident, purposeful. He moved like a man accustomed to command, like someone whowould rip the world apart before allowing it to defeat him. David trailed behind, hands on his hips, expression half-frustrated and half-amused.
“One day,” David said as they reached the first steps, “ye’ll ken peace, Connor. But today’s clearly nae that day.”
Connor placed one boot on the first step, pausing for just a heartbeat. The firelight caught the black in his eyes, turning them into burning embers of fierce resolve. “Peace comes after justice,” he said.
“Then we’d best pray justice decides to show itself soon. Else ye’ll hunt it till the end of days.”
Connor ascended the steps, shoulders squared and jaw firm, the weight of the lairdship and his vengeance resting equally on him. He did not look back as he spoke his final words. “Justice will show itself,” he vowed. “I’ll see to it.”
Connor pushed open the door to his study, the familiar scent of parchment and peat smoke washing over him as he stepped inside. The room was dim save for the glow of the hearth.
David followed behind him, still dusted with the dirt of travel and looking ready to collapse into the nearest chair. Connor barely had time to set his satchel down before the door burst open again.
“Grandson tis about time ye've returned,” Margaret said.
